Morgan McAdam
Stories (1/0)
A Howl for Help
A journey began, Forest went dark as fire fly's lit up the surrounding area. A wolf cried injured under midnights moon, oh the stars had glistened so bright. But the poor wolf was injured, like the bleakness of night. Hope had dwindled as if struck by headlights, no help to be found within the wolf's sight. The trees screeched, as the winds hissed at the branches. The wolf was caught in a hunter's trap, it was a pelt catching branch. One for a trade, an animal's blockade was this the end for a poor old wolf or would a miracle be sent this wolf's way. The howls kept on drumming, no spirit guide coming, faith was gunned by a poacher in a bush's portrait, but this ain't the closure. The bullet ricocheted, a debt would be paid. A bigger wolf made way, leaving trails of grey, unleashing claw's blade, a new bet was played. The wolf pounced and slayed that poacher to his grave, blood sprayed, a halo was made for fate had been changed for that poor wolf yet to live another day in nature's crusade.
By Morgan McAdam7 years ago in Poets